


the woods wont keep you warm at night

by HelmetParty



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, M/M, Submissive Jake Park
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 22:10:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17516762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelmetParty/pseuds/HelmetParty
Summary: Jake is doing a gen alone, and a killer does something unexpected.





	the woods wont keep you warm at night

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd so prob trash lmaoooo  
> revelationwolfe on ps4 is anyone wants to play w/ me!

 Jake was, by the very definition of the word, exhausted beyond compare. In the Entity’s realm, sleep felt more like a chore than...whatever it was before. It made him feel groggy, confused, heavy; it could be the fact they all slept on the ground, or maybe the ladder amount of times they woke up in a trial, their last memory being going to sleep. It was how they got there, anyway, to his knowledge; the others who stayed awake couldn’t remember the trial goers ever leaving at all, just suddenly being gone.

 That was how it worked here. You slept, did your best to survive during a trial, then came back to the campfire to start the process over again.

 Jake was tired of it. He felt broken and bruised, his body so unbelievably tired that he had trouble staying awake at any given moment; he felt like Quentin looked, truthfully. Everywhere ached, like his soul  _ itself  _ was fighting to keep itself afloat. And, to be completely honest, it was a lonely experience. The other survivors we’re nice (well, some of them, anyway), but Jake didn’t feel connected. Even here he feels an outsider. People like Claudette or Dwight, people kind and helpful doing their best to make sure everyone was doing fine, even them Jake felt separated from; unwanted, distant. Although he was used to a lack of physical contact, here it was only heightened. Jake desperately just wanted to touch another human being, the specification only to avoid jinxing himself with the next killer getting their hands on him. The lack of such connections was fine out there, in the real world, but here it was only something else dragging him down.

 Usually, Jake didn’t even feel  _ real _ .

 Working on a generator, Jake gets lost in thought. This happened on occasion, though he did his best to try not to zone out during a trial. It was important to have your wits about you, especially when your life depended on it. (Jake was beginning to forget that he did, indeed, die; and maybe one of these days he wouldn’t be found wandering back to the campfire with no memory of how he arrived back.) He often daydreamed, sometimes of nothing real, sometimes of his life before. He felt his heart sink at the thought his dogs we’re alone, nobody to feed them or check in on them at all. He absentmindedly wondered if they would be okay. Could they get out of the house, run away, and live without him? Could they chew through the bags to get their food? Was he dead, and if so, did they eat his body?  _ Would  _ they? 

 In thought, he doesn’t seem to catch a pair of quiet footsteps. The generator hummed its cold and mechanic tune, too loud for much sound to be heard besides it, especially so close. Jake continued to fiddle with the wires as best he could, unsure of what he was really doing; most of them we’re. It just seemed like the generators needed you to touch them, to try.

 A strong hand grabs the back of Jake’s collar, pulling on his hood with quite an amount of force. Jake makes a startled whimper as he’s forced to stand to his feet. His assailant hold him up, Jake claws at his neck, trying to relieve some of the choking pressure, his feet barely able to touch the ground. A solid, tough kick to the back comes next, sending Jake down to the ground, and quickly so. The mud from the ground of the barn smears over his face as he desperately attempts to stand. Who was the killer, this time? He hadn’t caught a glimpse.

 As he turns, still crawling backwards in a vain attempt to get away, he sees him; tall, strong, his arms weilding a stained kitchen knife in his abnormally large hands, white mask tinted red with splatters of coppery blood from unfortunate victims.

_ Myers _ .

 Jake couldn’t think. The only thing that went through his head aside from the dread of being put on a hook was Laurie’s short words about him - ‘ _ He’s a psycho, and that’s it. _ ’ Michael was one of the few that Jake had cold feet about. He was colossal, quiet, and most importantly, never forgiving. There were rare occasions where killers would leave you on the ground to die, maybe some of them liked the chase; but Michael never did. On the hook you went, or if you were particularly unlucky, you were killed on the spot.

 And neither of those seemed like great options, particularly since none of his teammates were around to save him.

 Jake doesn’t make the effort to move. He was tired, ready to just get this over with. And he had no idea where his friends were, and didn’t want to risk running Michael around and unintentionally leading him into them. 

 Michael, however, doesn’t move. He stares, his head tilting down at Jake who made no noise aside from his labored breathing. Seeing Michael so close, so threatening, yet so still and quiet made Jake shiver. He had no idea what the other had in store. Did he want him to run after all, to lead him to the others? No, he  _ wouldn’t _ . 

 “Get on with it,” Jake says, mustering up as much confidence as he can. “Do it.”

 He feels a rush of heroism, though it's mostly just him trying to make himself feel better. With such a gutsy comment, it’s like he signed his own one way ticket to the hook.

 Michael takes a step forward and Jake can almost feel the piercing pain in his shoulder now. It never got easier, no matter how many times he was slashed or hit, hooked or killed. In fact, it was only worsened by the memory of the feeling itself. 

 A large hand grips Jake’s hair and holds him up, back to his feet, only to slam him down against the ground again. A wave of pain runs through his legs, up to his spine and already aching back. This time, however, he was positioned on his knees, Michael’s hand still holding his hair astonishingly tight. 

 All at once, Jake’s senses come about him. He becomes aware of Michael’s other hand, the hand that held his weapon, which rested on his groin. Michael looked down at him, the cold, emotionless mask gazing into his very essence, Jake forced to look up towards him with eyes that began to water, both from the pain of his hair being so tightly held, but in fear of its implications.

 And, as such, what Jake had thought came true. He hears a distinct zipper sound as the cold knife grazes his neck, dangerously close. A single movement would kill him, right then and there. Jake could only hope that Michael had  _ some  _ restraint  _ somewhere _ , at the very least for the Entity’s rules of this...  _ game _ .

 A half hard cock hits his face as Michael’s zipper is undone. Jake’s eyes widen; was this...real? Could this even be real? It had to be a dream.

 Michael pulls Jake’s head down towards his cock, encouraging him to do the only thing one could do in this situation. Jake opens his mouth, but not wide enough - Michael jerks his hair, a small whimper exiting his mouth - and opens further in response. The tip of Michael’s bulky cock enters Jake’s mouth, and instantly he tastes salty sweat. It wasn’t particularly great, however Jake felt himself enjoying it. It didn’t taste like soap or fruit like the few men he had taken before, something artificial or premeditated. It tasted carnal, lewd, something that emanated obscenity. Michael wasted no time thrusting his hips into Jake’s mouth, forcing him to take whatever he gave. Jake kept his mouth open as best he could, his jaw aching from being stretched so wide. Soon enough, his face was buried in the slit of Michael’s jumpsuit, thick black hair tickling his nose with every thrust. Jake has to hold on to his legs for support, his hands wrapping around the others’ thighs, focusing on breathing, trying with everything inside him to not pass out. He can hear Michael breathing now, his breath hitching every once in a while from a particularly deep thrust. 

 God, this was so wrong. This man had was a serial killer, a threat to him and his friends, out to kill them and himself as well...but Jesus, it had been so long since someone had paid Jake much attention, and especially not like this. It felt good, in a way, to be used like this; it was something he would never admit out loud, something that he had hidden deep inside him from before, even. It was a lonely life for him, but this made him feel wanted. Special, even. Had Michael done this to anyone before? 

 Jake liked to think not.

 He begins to hollow out his cheeks, something inside him dire to please Michael. Instead of just an empty hole, Jake tries to suck. He uses his tongue, swirling it around each side of Myers’ cock, and in return he hears the other groan inside the mask. He tries to look up, wishing he could see his face, instead only seeing that deadpan, bleak mask. It made him sad, somehow, but he tries not to focus on it. 

 Tears rolled down Jake’s face at this point, Michael beginning to get more rigorous in his thrusts and hair pulling. Myers’ knife rested now in his hand, which was on Jake’s shoulder, the tip of it grazing his neck every time he was forced back to his tip. Jake can feel a small amount of blood trickle down, wetting his jacket and shirt with the red liquid. It made him fearful about how he would explain it, a random wound in his neck, remembering that the Entity healed most injuries upon death or rest. 

 Would he die, though? Was Michael going to kill him when he got what he wanted?

 Jake could barely breathe now. Michael was holding so tightly, forcing himself in Jake’s throat with every shove. His breathing was vociferous now, heavy and quick, clearly coming to his end. All Jake can do is hang on for the ride.

 Abruptly, Jake feels a thick, hot liquid hit the back of his throat. Although he had a weak gag reflex, Jake began to choke. He did his best to swallow it as Michael remained stationary deep in his throat, his thick cock twitching as he came. After a moment, he pulls his cock from Jake’s mouth with a pop. Jake heaved on air, swallowing properly now. Michael’s cock remained in front of him, though the grip on his hair lessened, however still existent. Jake, by himself, licked the rest of the come off of the others’ cock, teasing its head a bit. He didn’t know he had, but a light smile placed itself on his lips. 

 Michael puts his cock back into his jumpsuit, and takes a step back. Jake, who was still on his knees, watches as the masked killer stares for another second, before leaving.

 Jake breathed, looking at the undamaged generator as he thought about what just happened. As he thought, thinking that this must be a dream of some sort, he becomes aware of the strain in his jeans.

 As he completes the final gen, subsequently exiting the trial, all of his teammates talk about Myers’ lack of skill in the trial. 

 And, as such, Jake is silent, and nobody suspects a thing.


End file.
